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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154911">Anchor Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites'>whenshewrites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [44]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abduction, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Beta Derek Hale, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale Leaves Beacon Hills, Derek Hale Leaves the Pack, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Anchor, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Hunters, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, McCall Pack, Omega Derek Hale, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Scott McCall isn't the Best Friend, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Torture, Tumblr Prompt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:59:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,199</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154911</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had been in captivity for twenty-three days when someone new was thrown into the cell next to his.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [44]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>788</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Anchor Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stiles thought this pretty accurately summed up his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The abduction and torture that was. The three weeks spent in darkness and the pain that just kept coming. Stiles felt like this was a pretty normal thing nowadays, much to his loathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The token human. The easily kidnappable sidekick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles Stilinski, ladies and gentlemen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then on day twenty-three, there was someone new thrown into the cell next to his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles didn’t actually see a face or a figure. He just heard the faint sounds of struggle, followed by what could only be growls, and then there was the sound of a door opening, a body hitting the floor, and the door slamming closed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles winced, curled up in the corner of his cell. He fiddled with the strings of his hoodie and waited for the footsteps of the hunters to leave, not moving until he was sure they had. Only then did he glance up, cautiously creeping toward the iron wall of his cell and pressing a hand against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence was his answer. Stiles curled his fingers against the metal and felt his stomach sink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scott? Liam? One of the other pups?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still didn’t get an answer, but Stiles could hear movement from the other cell. He sighed and drew back, curling in on himself again. He’d been here for long enough that he was tired of just about everything. And clearly, this wasn’t one of his friends. But that didn’t mean he had to take another supernatural’s shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could at least say something, you know,” Stiles said. “Since clearly the hunters have taken both of us and we’re probably in for the long haul. Although I’ve been here longer, so I get seniority.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... How long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles furrowed his brows at the voice. It was hoarse and definitely male, and there was some part of him that felt like he recognized it. But no matter how hard Stiles wracked his brain, he couldn’t remember from where. Maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d spent over three weeks in the darkness, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going in twenty days or so now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles knew he heard a growl again. He tilted his head toward the wall of his cell and blinked, once more trying to figure out why it was so familiar. He couldn’t quite place where, but Stiles knew he wasn’t crazy. Or he was pretty sure, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, random question, dude, but do you have a name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness went still and a long moment of silence passed. Once more, Stiles didn’t get an answer. He sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, mine is Stiles. You know, just in case I die here and you’re the last person I end up talking to. Because I’d say I have extremely high hopes that my pack will come rescue me— I’m assuming you’re supernatural, by the way— but they’ve been severely lacking in capabilities lately. So I’m not really feeling too positive anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t be telling strangers your name,” the man said after a second. “Or anything about yourself for that matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Stiles half-joked. “We’re not strangers anymore, right? I mean, we’ve both been thrown into the darkness together, even though there’s a very rude wall currently separating us. I would say this is quite the bonding experience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bonding experience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah,” Stiles said. “Studies show that being abducted together makes for lifelong friendships. So, you want to tell me your name so I can put something to the face… err, voice?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to know my name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles blinked a few times at the wall. Then he moved closer and lowered himself to the floor, trying to see through the grates into the next cell. But all he could make out was a pair of black boots. He wrinkled his nose and rested his chin on his hands, letting out a long breath. “Don’t presume to know me, kind sir. I would love to know your name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Stiles. You wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt weird, hearing his name for the first time in three weeks. Whenever the hunters came in to interrogate him about Scott’s pack, they just called him ‘boy’ and kicked him around a lot. And they were the only voices he’d heard since he’d been taken from his jeep and thrown in here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe that’s why the voice of the grump next door sounded so familiar. Stiles’s brain was just trying to give a familiar face to anything except the hunters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call you Miguel then,” Stiles said after a moment. “That’s usually my go-to nickname. It’s gotten me out of more tight spots before than you’d ever believe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could’ve sworn he heard the man chuckle. “I don’t doubt it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles smiled to himself and leaned against the wall. For some reason, even just imagining that there was someone on the other side only a few feet from where he sat comforted him. He felt a little less terrified. A little less alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a quick warning though,” Stiles said. “I talk a lot and ask way too many questions. Before this is all over, you might end up knowing about my entire childhood, all of my lifelong dreams, and every single person I’ve ever fallen in love with only to have my heart broken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles heard a sharp intake of breath. His heart skipped a beat or two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless that’s not okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Miguel said quietly. “No, that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh good,” Stiles said with a grin. “Because you don’t seem like much of a talker. But that’s okay! I can promise to talk enough for the both of us and then probably some.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have the hunters hurt you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question was so sudden, Stiles’s smile dropped. He reached up and prodded underneath his jaw where one of the men’s knuckles had left a dark bruise only a few hours ago. It still hurt, although Stiles’s entire body hurt at this point. He felt like he’d been living throughout one giant ache these past three weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miguel seemed to be holding his breath. Stiles lowered his hand and debated either telling the truth or lying; he thought he’d heard fear in the man’s voice. So maybe he feared pain. Maybe he hadn’t experienced the hunters as often as Stiles had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If that was true, he probably didn’t know what to expect. And Stiles found it hard to make himself tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he lied. “No, I’ve been fine and dandy. A little lonely, you know, but now I have you! And remember what I said about abduction leading to lifelong friendships—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles,” Miguel’s voice cut him off. “I can hear you lying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles closed his mouth and slumped a little further into himself. He supposed that cleared up what kind of supernatural creature he was dealing with then, although Stiles had his suspicions from the beginning. “So you’re a werewolf then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bitten or born?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miguel didn’t answer. Stiles wet his cracked lips, running a hand through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My friend was bitten, but he’s the current true alpha of the Beacon Hills pack. That’s where I’m from, you know. I don’t actually know where we are right now cause the hunters knocked me out pretty good, but I’m sure my friends are coming for me. Or at least, they’re going to try and come for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence met his words. Stiles tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, desperately holding onto those words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do believe in him, you know. He’s just… he’s not the same. Not the same as the alpha that used to live in Beacon Hills, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a sudden movement from the other cell. Stiles startled, but then he realized Miguel was only shifting around a little. Relaxing again, Stiles kept talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that guy has been gone for years now. Four, I think, but I don’t keep count.” Stiles hesitated and then scoffed. “That’s a lie, I totally keep count. I’m pretty sure I’ve counted every damn day since he decided to leave Beacon Hills. I mean… he wasn’t an Alpha when he did, but it still kind of sucks, you know? He kind of sucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s voice was soft and hoarse and Stiles was surprised at the shiver that ran down his spine at hearing it. He turned his face toward the wall. “Dude, why the hell are you apologizing? It’s not your fault he’s a jerk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A jerk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A jerk, a Sourwolf, a goddamn asshole. I mean, I didn’t ask him not to leave and I probably should have, but still, he left. He left and that was a shit move. No more visits, no more texts. He wasn’t even there when I— er, the pack— graduated. Kinda messed up, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment he didn’t get an answer. Then there was a soft “I know” and Stiles sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, man, I warned you I’d be lamenting all my pains and woes. Hey! Wanna tell me a little bit about yourself? Gimme a favorite color.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Red?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, that’s legit,” Stiles said after a moment. Miguel didn’t actually ask the question back but Stiles decided to pretend that he had, furrowing his brows as he thought about his own answer. As if he didn’t already know. “I like red too. But also blue. Blue’s just pretty, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles could’ve sworn he heard a chuckle. That made him smile a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, are you a beta or an alpha? Cause some alpha powers right now would be seriously epic to get us out of this shit—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Omega.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles cut off mid-sentence, snapping his jaw shut. Internally, he cursed himself, and the silence reigned for a moment. Then he chuckled nervously. “Oh, that’s fine too. I mean, at least we got some werewolf muscles, right? I love me some werewolf muscles… that totally came out wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles definitely heard a chuckle this time. He thought that counted as a win.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, so if I asked you how you got here—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before Stiles could finish his sentence there was a loud bang. He flinched and pulled into himself as the sound of footsteps echoing off the metal floors filled the air. Stiles couldn’t help the pit of dread that formed in his stomach, nor the panic that started to make his throat constrict.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gasped for breath and buried himself in his hoodie. He’d been going through this for twenty-three days now and it still didn’t get any better. Stiles hated himself a little for the panic that rose up in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey! Stiles!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles blinked a few times and spotted a hand reaching through the grates between their cells. He was reaching for it before he could even think and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling </span>
  </em>
  <span>of another pulse point underneath his fingers was enough to make Stiles’s own heartbeats slow down a little. He gripped the man’s hand tightly and closed his eyes, chin tucked into his chest as he tried to catch calm, deep breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then he heard the door of Miguel’s cell open and the man’s hand was yanked away from his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A whole new level of panic rose in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles shoved himself up and scrabbled at the wall. The sounds of pained grunts and sharp, gasping breaths filled the air and Stiles couldn’t tell if they were Miguel’s or the hunters, but he had a pretty good idea. Moving toward the door of his own cell, Stiles slammed a fist against it and let loose a litany of curses, not even sure what exactly he was trying to accomplish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, asshats, why don’t you try coming for the human, huh? That guy doesn’t know shit about the McCall pack but you know I’ve got all the info—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cut off as his cell door swung open and one of the hunter’s familiar faces sneered in. Stiles retreated a few steps back, his heart leaping into his throat, and tried desperately not to regret his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, hold up now, let’s talk about this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hunter caught his arm and dragged him out of the cell and Stiles nearly sobbed at the sudden change of scenery. Daylight streamed from down the nearby corridor and glistened off the floors. Stiles hiccuped as his breaths caught in his throat, but instead of being dragged toward the light, he was pulled away from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles barely resisted the urge to thrash and fight back, going limp in the hunter’s hold. The man dragged him into the adjoining cell, where two other hunters already waited, and Stiles didn’t raise his eyes until he was dropped to the floor, knees cracking on the cement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when he did look up, eyes meeting the grey-green ones of the man curled up in the cell’s corner, Stiles’s heart stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Four years.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the first thought that entered his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been four years since Stiles had seen such a vivid grey-green color and it had been four years since he’d laid eyes on Derek Hale’s face. Even now, with blood running from a split lip and pain cracking through in his eyes, Stiles recognized Derek like the day he’d left Beacon Hills. He had a slightly scruffier beard, clothes that were ripped and hanging off of one shoulder, and lips twisted back in a grimace, yes, but it was him all the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Four years.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles’s knees nearly buckled beneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His second thought was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miguel </span>
  </em>
  <span>and that really shouldn’t have made a humorless laughter bubble up in his throat. But Stiles couldn’t help wondering if he was seeing things. Because of all the people that he could’ve seen in the cell, Derek Hale wouldn’t have even made the list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hunter shoved him forward and Stiles sprawled to the floor near Derek’s side. The man snarled and tried to rise, but another kick to the ribcage had him doubling back over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then that Stiles noticed the glowing blue bullet embedded in his arm. And the black lines creeping up his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles drew away, shying into himself. And if possible, Derek’s eyes cracked even more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The McCall alpha,” one of the hunters hissed, learning close to Stiles’s ear so the words tickled his skin. “Or the Hale mutt. You have twenty-four hours to decide.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles’s heart stuttered and the man laughed as he drew away. The door slammed as the three hunters filed out back out and as darkness fell over the cell, the silence returned once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no more sunlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek shifted with a soft groan and Stils scrambled away, back slamming into the opposite corner. The man looked at him quietly, one hand pressed to the wound in his arm, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s face twisted. He tried to sit up even more but only groaned again, slipping back down to the floor. The cut on his lip wasn’t healing, Stiles noticed. His face was unnaturally pale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stile’s stomach twisted and he felt nauseous. ‘Four years’ kept ringing through his head. Glancing down at his hands, Stiles unconsciously counted his fingers before feeling sick again. He had ten. There were ten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miguel,” Stiles scoffed, still staring at his hands. “Goddammit, Derek, I hate you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man flinched. Stiles closed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How soon did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The moment I caught your scent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if I would’ve died in that cell, would you have told me first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you have wanted to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles clenched his teeth so hard they gnashed. He didn’t realize he was trembling until he was curled in on himself again; and it wasn’t from the cold. “Why, Derek?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment, Derek didn’t answer. When Stiles opened his eyes again, the man’s gaze was fixed firmly on the floor. He looked shaky, fragile. Stiles couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized his voice before. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>Derek. Or at least, he had four years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But a lot of things had changed between eighteen-year-old Stiles and now. He’d done four years at MIT and then he’d done a summer of training underneath his dad’s section at the station. Though Stiles still didn’t know what the hell he wanted to do with himself, wandering aimlessly from thing to thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d graduated with a master’s in criminology. He kind of hated it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kind of hated everything about the past four years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you here, Derek?” Stiles asked again. “How the hell did you find me when my own pack couldn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek flinched. Stiles’s stomach twisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Scott send you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t been in contact with Scott since I left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Did my dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek looked confused and Stiles shrugged, dropping his gaze again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t think very much of Scott’s pack anymore. I’d always thought he had outside contacts, but I could never be sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Stiles,” Derek said quietly. “Your father didn’t send me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles looked at him pleadingly. Derek swallowed once more and then shifted again, face twisting in pain. When he glanced up, grey-green eyes glowed blue and Stiles felt it like a tug to the gut. Something latching around his chest and pulling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just knew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, Stiles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles clenched his jaw and looked sharply away. Derek’s sharp breaths filled his ears like a ringing alarm and he realized suddenly that they were on a ticking clock. Twenty four hours or Scott’s pack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott’s pack… his pack. The pack. Whatever it was, they were in trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he tried to save Derek’s life, that was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if the man could read his thoughts, Derek’s eyes flicked back up and he looked pained. But not just because of the bullet wound currently festering in his arm. His lips were cracked. Blood continued to dribble down his chin. “It’s okay, Stiles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anger rushed up in Stiles’s throat. He was on his feet in a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Derek, it’s not okay! None of this okay, dude, don’t you understand that? I’ve just been asked to choose between Scott’s pack and you. You, who I haven’t seen in four years and just admitted to thinking about nearly every other day? Do you understand how truly not-okay all of this is? I can’t be expected to choose, asshole! I can’t— I can’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles stumbled and slumped back to the floor again, pulling his knees into his chest. His entire body was shaking now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just got you back. I can’t lose you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek blinked at him. Stiles scoffed humorlessly and glanced at the man’s arm where the bullet was still glowing blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need me to attempt to cut that off for you, Sourwolf? Because I’ve grown and matured since we first met. I think I could attempt as long as it didn’t involve using my teeth or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rare smile tugged at the edges of Derek’s lips. “I thought you fainted at the sight of blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only at the sight of a chopped off arm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of Derek’s smile faded. Stiles hesitated where he sat and then pushed himself back up and moved forward, sinking down next to Derek’s uninjured side. The man radiated heat like a furnace and Stiles couldn’t tell if that was the werewolf or the wound. He was scared to think that he might know that answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have twenty-four hours to get out of here, Sourwolf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have longer than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Stiles said, voice cracking. “No, because you’re not going to die and I’m not going to give you up. We figured it out the first time, Sourwolf, we can figure it out again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The first time we weren’t trapped in a metal cell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but the first time we were relying on Scott to come through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we’re not doing that now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles’s smile slipped. He glanced down at his hands and realized the truth in Derek’s words. Except this time, he really didn’t think Scott was going to make it in time. And the choice to save Derek’s life was much more costly than it had been before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could always tell them small things,” Stiles said softly. “Numbers maybe. I could make up names and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If they realize you’re lying to them, they’ll kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if I give them what they want, they’ll most likely kill me anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s face tightened, but he didn’t argue with that. Stiles leaned against his shoulder and swallowed hard, still not quite able to believe that this was Derek. This was Derek next to him, the man Stiles had thought about for four years. The same man he’d tried so hard to forget.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d failed each time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t lose you again,” Stiles said quietly. “Derek, you can’t ask me to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles’s stomach clenched as he glanced over. Derek studied his face and then dropped his gaze, eyes flickering blue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was going to come back,” he murmured. “But then Scott had a pack and everything seemed to be going well—”</span>
</p><p><span>“Derek,” Stiles said. “Derek, what the hell do you think I was talking about earlier? Everything’s not going well. We could use</span> <span>you. We </span><em><span>need</span></em><span> you. ” Or maybe just Stiles needed him. But he was terrified to say that out loud.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Stiles, I can’t go back to Beacon Hills.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hit like a blow to the chest. Derek blinked at him and Stiles slowly lowered his gaze, a knot forming in his throat. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not because of you,” Derek said softly. “Not because there’s no longer anything left for me. But I’ve been traveling. Meeting other packs, sometimes going back to see Cora. I don’t have a pack in Beacon Hills anymore. I don’t... have a family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if you did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words slipped out before Stiles could stop them. Derek gave him a startled look and Stiles dropped his gaze, silently cursing himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he whispered. “Nevermind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Derek,” he said, cutting the man off. “Derek, I’m fucking terrified right now and I don’t know what to do or how to stop feeling that way, okay? I don’t know if we’re going to make it out alive or if we’re both going to die here. And I’m scared, but I don’t want—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly, the man was kissing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was gentle and cautious at first. But the moment Stiles pressed back, Derek was running his good hand through Stiles’s hair and pulling him in closer, kissing him like a drowning man searching for air. Stiles was pretty sure he’d made a sharp noise at the back of his throat but he couldn’t be sure. The only thing he could concentrate on was Derek; the smell of him, the taste, and the feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles had imaged Derek’s departure countless times. Maybe he would’ve moved forward and kissed the man before he could wish them goodbye. Maybe he would have tracked him down and dragged him straight back to Beacon Hills, refusing to let him leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe… maybe he would have followed. Maybe he would’ve taken Derek’s hand and left with him, and the rest of the pack could’ve stopped to digest all of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles was pretty sure they were going to die here. So he kissed the man with all his pains and regrets and tried to pretend they weren’t locked in a cell together, the ticking clock hanging right above their heads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles could feel it again. That tug in his gut, that rope around his heart. Pulling like he was a magnet and his landing place was only inches away. Derek felt like a place to meet in the middle. Derek felt like an anchor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An anchor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe the complete opposite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles thought he could hear distant footsteps. The ringing of faraway doors opening and voices slowly growing nearer. Panic coiled in his stomach like the terror rising in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Derek,” Stiles said, gasping around his lips. “Derek, I need you to do something for me. I need you to do something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man nipped at his lower lip, mouth trailing down his neck. Stiles gasped and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling Derek closer to his skin. The man’s mouth lingered on the nape of his neck and Stiles gripped his hair tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Derek, do that. I need you to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel hot breaths against his skin, Derek’s heartbeat pounding through his chest, and the man hesitating for a moment; waiting. Stiles made a low noise as the back of his throat and moved his hand down to cup the back of Derek’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Derek, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When teeth met the skin between Stiles’s neck and shoulder, they were gentle. Cautious. But then they got sharper, fangs elongating and sliding through skin. Stiles winced and tried to smother a small groan at the back of his throat, but he couldn’t quite. Derek tensed and Stiles rubbed a thumb over the back of his neck, tightening his hold a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling in Stiles’s gut moved to coil in his stomach. Like fire racing through his veins, feeling blood trickle down his neck. Stiles closed his eyes and focused on it. Derek’s mouth left his shoulder and his nose traced up his neck, underneath his chin and when lips met his own again, Stiles could taste blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hit him like a blow to the chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles gasped and yanked back, hand-clapping to the wound on his neck. Derek startled too, pulling away and when Stiles’s eyes snapped back open, the man’s own flashed blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s lips parted, eyes widening a little. Stiles blinked at him and tried to talk, but his tongue felt heavy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles,” Derek said softly. “Red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Red.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Voices filled the air. A door slammed, another one opened, and then light flooded into the cell. Stiles leaped up as the hunters moved forward but then the man coming at him froze. In his hands, the taser slipped and then dropped. He retreated a step backward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty four hours,” Stiles said, stepping forward. The man’s face drained of blood and he stumbled back toward his friends. The air filled with the sound of guns cocking. “You really think you should’ve given us twenty-four hours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get back, boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a question,” Stiles said, leaning down to pick up the taser and turning it over in his fingers. “How much electricity can the human body take?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put that down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This,” Stiles said, wiggling it through the air. “Has fifty thousand volts. I wrote a paper once, you know. For fun. And most humans… most humans can’t take more than a hundred thousand. But that means this isn’t much use to you, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoot him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek snarled from the side. Stiles looked at him, eyes flashing, and the man’s glowed blue in return. Stiles smiled, one word ringing through his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anchor.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned back toward the hunters right as the sound of loading guns filled the air, and Stiles dropped down, slamming a palm against the floor as sparks leaped off of his hand. They raced across the floor, rebounding off the metal walls, and actively sought out any beating heart in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gunshots turned to shouts. Shouts turned to screams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood roared through Stiles’s ears. Trickled down his shoulder. Dripped onto the floor, inches from his hand, and sizzled in the heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fifty thousand,” he murmured to himself, slowly lifting his eyes. “I’d say this is about five hundred thousand or so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time silence had fallen back over the cell, Stiles felt a little bit faint. The air smelled like burnt flesh and his sight was a little blurry. He still managed to rise to his feet, glancing over his shoulder, and Derek met his gaze with wide eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Stiles couldn’t find any fear in them. Just wild, dilated shock. He smiled a little and leaned shakily against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess chopping off an arm won’t be necessary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man moved forward but then collapsed, dropping to one knee. Stiles was rushed to his side before he could stop himself, his own world spinning a little. The lines of black had moved to creep up Derek’s neck and he hissed as he pressed a hand against the wound, face terrifyingly pale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles, bullet—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hit him hard and Stiles scrambled sideways, shaking a wolfsbane bullet out of the nearest gun. He ripped the top off between his teeth, shook the powder into his hand, and then gave Derek an apologetic look before shoving his palm against the man’s wound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek howled and arched into Stiles’s chest, face turning into his neck. Stiles pulled him close and they both sunk to the ground, until Derek’s panting died down to a soft gasp or two and his chest was no longer rising and falling so rapidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles still held onto him, holding the man trembling in his arms. Derek whined softly at the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That should do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Other than the agonizing pain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Stiles said, chuckling a little. “The ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek huffed. Stiles grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I guess we’re not relying on Scott to come through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man stilled. Derek turned his head and glanced up to search his face. Stiles nervously wet his lips and Derek dropped his gaze again. “I still can’t come back to Beacon Hills, Stiles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pack, Stiles. I’m not part of Scott’s pack. I don’t think I’ll ever want to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles held him for a moment longer. Then he leaned forward and touched his lips against the man’s forehead and when Derek glanced back up again, Stiles smirked. Sparks danced over his fingers and his eyes flashed; Derek’s glowed blue in return. The man swallowed, his words coming out in a hoarse whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Red, Stiles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you know blue’s just pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come back,” Stiles said. “Derek, come back for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man studied his face for a moment longer. And then once more, Derek was kissing him, no hesitation or cautiousness to it this time. Stiles chuckled at the back of his throat, making the man growl. One hand tangled through Derek’s hair. Another cupped the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles could’ve sworn he heard the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Alpha’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>whispered behind Derek’s mouth. His heart skipped a beat or two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twenty-four days, a handful of dead hunters, and one slight love confession later, Stiles saw daylight again. Derek leaned against his side, Stiles bit back a soft sob, and the dawning sun tipped on the horizon, hints of scarlet and blue coloring the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles had thought this all pretty accurately summed up his life a few weeks ago. The abduction and torture that was. He felt like this was a pretty normal thing nowadays, much to his loathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But not anymore. There was no token human. No easily kidnappable sidekick. There was the boy and his wolf. The spark and the omega.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Written for the prompt: "I’m fucking terrified and I don’t know what to do or how to stop feeling that way, okay? I’m scared…” and I totally expected the angst this time. It was bound to happen. Also! I love for some BAMF Stiles! I'd love to hear what you guys thought &lt;3</p><p>Come hang with me on Tumblr?</p><p>  <a href="https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/">the dumpster</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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